In Your Eyes Trilogy: The Heat
by hipgnosis
Summary: Now that Michael and Liz have grown closer together, they fear that their secret will tear the group apart. Part two of the In Your Eyes Trilogy.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I asked Santa to give them to me for Christmas. So far, no dice. It's May-I should probably give up hoping, yeah?

A/N: Please, no more threats! You are, of course, welcome to continue offering bribes. I accept foreign and domestic currency in small nonsequential denominations, as well as icons, manips, concrit, and most varieties of chocolate.

Chapter One

They'd decided not to tell anybody.

Well, Liz had decided. 'Anybody,' of course, meant Isabel, Maria, Max and Kyle. "I think we should wait a little bit longer," she suggested when they were up on her balcony on Tuesday night.

"You don't think they'll figure it out when we're all over each other at school?"

"I didn't think we would be," she admitted, a little puzzled. "You're not really into public displays of affection."

"State your source."

"Maria," was her rather sheepish reply.

"So, by your logic, I should assume that you're going to push me at another girl to save the planet?"

"That was an extenuating circumstance, Michael. Are you really trying to tell me that you'll come back in time to force me to give you up?"

He shook his head. "Nope, never happen. That's kind of my point. I'm not Max. And you're not Maria. So different rules apply."

"But that's not a person-specific decision, Michael, either you're comfortable being touched in public, or you're not."

"I didn't used to be comfortable being touched at all," was his reply. "I'm starting to get over that. And there is never gonna be a time when you touching me is not okay."

"Oh." She went quiet, but it was a good kind of quiet. She was smiling. "I'm glad. But I still think we should wait until-"

"Until when? When do you think Max is going to take it well?"

"Okay, never," she admitted, sounding defeated.

"Are you ashamed of me, Liz?" he asked very quietly.

"_No._ Michael, of course not. But you and Max have been getting along better since you got back from Texas than you have for months. He's your family, and I don't want to wreck that for you. I don't understand why the big rush to hurt everybody."

"Well, jeez, Parker, if you're gonna use logic…"

"Besides. I'd like to have you to myself for a couple of weeks before we have to fight with our friends about it."

He nodded. "Okay, I can get behind that. But I'm a linear thinker. I need a timeframe."

"You're a left-brain thinker prone to flying by the seat of your pants," Liz countered dryly.

"You've been a good influence on me. Now I like to have a plan."

"Sure. Okay. Before Valentine's Day. How's that?"

"Pretty open-ended, Liz."

"All right, February 10th for absolute sure, because Valentine's Day is a major girl holiday and I want to be able to be with you without worrying about someone seeing the wrong thing. Before that if we feel ready, or if they ask. I'm _not_ ashamed of you, and that means I won't lie about it if someone asks me."

"Ditto."

"So we're okay?"

"We're okay," Michael agreed, putting one arm around her. "If I'm mad at you, I'll yell, remember?"

"I remember," she replied, looking smugly satisfied, and Michael still didn't understand it and wasn't going to question his good luck.

"So, tomorrow after shift. They're showing Cary Grant movies at the arthouse theater."

"Cary Grant? Michael, did you hit your head?"

"_Arsenic and Old Lace._"

She relaxed into a soft smile. "I love that movie."

"I know. You up for it?"

"Well, I'm supposed to go shopping for nursery furniture with Isabel, but how long can that take?"

"All hail the Baby Nazi. How long do you think?"

She smirked. "Okay, well, the stores close at eight. What time does the movie start?"

"It starts at-" Michael pulled a slightly crumpled flyer out of his pocket and consulted it- "ah…nine-fifteen."

"Perfect. Are you sure you don't want to come with us to the mall?"

He snorted. "Yeah, right. Do I strike you as a masochist?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Well, I was going to pine away without you, but Max, Kyle and Jesse want to play basketball."

"How callous of them," she teased. "You know that if you keep teaming up with Kyle, Max and Jesse won't want to play anymore. A lawyer and a former king don't exactly make for gracious losers."

"Well, if they were nice about it, it wouldn't be any fun."

oOo

"You assholes," Jesse gasped, hands braced on his knees, sweat dripping off the end of his nose.

"Dream Team, baby, seven and oh!" Kyle crowed, then high-fived Michael.

"How about a rematch?" Max offered, grinning.

"You want to get your ass kicked twice in one day, El Presidente?"

"Sorry, guys, I can't," Michael said as he checked his watch. "I gotta hit the showers and meet Liz at the mall. We're going to a movie."

Kyle snorted. "Blow her off, man, our winning streak is at stake here."

"After spending all afternoon with the Baby Nazi, I don't think she'll appreciate it if I ditch her for basketball. I'm gonna have to retire undefeated."

"Whipped," Jesse coughed.

"At least I'm gonna spend my evening in a dark room with a pretty girl, instead of assembling nursery furniture for a hormone-crazed Amazon," Michael cracked.

"Well, when you put it like that…got room for one more?"

"We're going to see _Arsenic and Old Lace._"

Kyle, who had been busy chugging Gatorade, spewed it all over the pavement. "The whole time we were dating, I refused to go near the arthouse theater! I can't believe she talked you into it when there's no chance you're gonna get any."

_Oh, I don't know about that…_

"Cary Grant, Michael?" Max added, looking puzzled. "Not exactly your genre."

"She sits through _Die Hard_ and _Braveheart_ and _Army Of Darkness_ for me, I can sit through an old movie for her. People get killed in it-how bad can it be?"

Max and Kyle looked at each other. "Bad," they said together.

oOo

Michael had decided one of the side benefits of going to the arthouse theater was that no one they knew would be there, and they could make out in the back. An old black-and-white movie Liz had seen before and he wasn't interested in wasn't going to be much of a distraction.

But it turned out that they didn't get a lot of kissing done. The exaggerated sight gags and the bizarre plot managed to hold Michael's attention; and the popcorn was better than the reheated crap they served at the mall cineplex, too.

"That was actually kind of fun," he admitted as they were on their way out the door. "It was funny, and the girl was hot."

"Deborah Kerr."

"Yeah, her," Michael agreed, then realized what he said. "Wait. You're not mad?"

"This was filmed in 1945, Michael," she reminded him, considerably amused. "Deborah Kerr's dead. I have no one to be jealous of."

"Oh. Right."

"So maybe I could talk you into another one sometime?"

"Sure."

"I don't see you sitting through a musical…well, maybe _The Producers_. But I'll think of something."

"Preferably something with murder," he put in.

"Noted. How about _The Big Sleep?_ It's playing next week."

"Okay. How was shopping with Isabel?"

"Weird. Pregnancy is really throwing her powers out of whack. She made a sleeper change colours, exploded a bunch of babyfood jars and set my latte on fire. She said she didn't even realize she was doing it."

"That's not like her," Michael agreed. "She used her powers the most when we were growing up-she's usually got better control than that."

"Well, hormones."

"Yeah, I guess. I'll have to talk to her; if there's a chance that she's gonna do something in front of Jesse, she needs to tell him before it happens."

"She should probably tell him anyway. What if the baby has powers, or only four fingers or God-knows-what? And I thought Nacedo said that alien pregnancies only take about a month."

"That's what Tess said," Michael reminded her. "She's not exactly a credible source."

Liz winced. "True."

He hugged her a little closer. "Sorry, honey," he muttered. "I didn't mean to bring her up."

"It's okay. It's just…do you know what the worst part is?"

"What?"

"Aside from the whole _destined to be with Max_ thing-which wasn't exactly her fault-I _liked_ her. I liked her, and I thought-well, hoped-that we'd be friends someday. Because I liked Ava, you know? And she left, and I thought maybe Tess…well, it was stupid. I felt stupid for trusting her, when the whole time, she was lying to us."

"We all trusted her. So if you were stupid, we were all stupid."

"Not the reassurance I was looking for," she remarked dryly.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Liz. First because I don't see the point, and second because I'm not any good at it." He shrugged, a little jerkily. "If you want pretty lies, you're with the wrong guy. Even when I'm trying to be nice, I say things wrong half the time."

"No. Michael, no, I didn't mean it like that. I trust you. I know I _can_ trust you _because_ you'll never lie to me, even about little things. I know you won't go behind my back, or tell me everything's all right when it isn't. And I know you'll be loyal to me, that you'll back me up even if you think I'm wrong." She drew in a shaky breath. "God, when Alex died, you thought we were completely insane and you still came to Las Cruces because you believed that we believed and you wanted to make sure we were safe, and you can _never_ know how much that meant to me."

"I did believe you," he admitted, very softly.

"What?"

"I did believe you. About Alex being killed by an alien. At first, at the funeral, I just thought that you were upset. But you were so determined, and you have a pretty good track record for being right about that kind of stuff."

"Thank you."

They walked in silence for a little while, Liz tucking herself under the curve of his arm. He matched his steps to hers. "School in a couple more days," he observed as they were nearing the Crashdown.

"I know."

"Listen, about Max. When you're ready. Or if he asks. I'm telling him."

"Michael-"

"Liz, I'm not gonna negotiate with you on this. You're worried about our friendship, well, this is the best way to salvage it. Because I know he's gonna flip out, and if he mouths off to you, I'll deck him. I won't be able to help myself. So the best way for us to do this without bloodshed and maybe stay friends, is if I tell him."

"Well, damn, Guerin, if you're going to use logic…"

"Good."

Liz let herself in to the back door, and Michael followed her in to the breakroom. He lifted her off of her feet and into his arms-even in heels she was too short for a proper kiss, which just gave him more incentive to get her horizontal. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, opening her mouth and sucking gently on his tongue.

"Oh, God, I do not want to know who taught you that," he murmured breathlessly as he strung kisses down her throat to the nape of her neck.

The trash can caught fire.

"Oh, my God, Michael!" Liz gasped, pulling away at the soft _whumph!_ of the explosion.

He grabbed a half-empty mop bucket and dumped the cold grey water on the flames. "Liz, I swear to you, I didn't do that."

"I know," she admitted, her eyes wide and frightened. "I…I think I did."

oOo

A/N: I know Liz getting her powers didn't actually happen until February, but hey…it's not like Isabel had a kid, either!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Me no own. You no sue. Belongs to that guy with the napkin and his buddies. Unfortunately. Sigh.

A/N: One down, four to go. I might even have to give you guys extra chapters with this post, because I think I promised everybody these chapters for Valentine's Day. hangs head in shame I suck. I don't deserve such loyal readers. revels in kind reviews and other praise despite undeservingness

Chapter Two

Jeff Parker had come into the breakroom the night before and gently reminded Liz that she was over curfew, before Michael could ask her any questions. So, feeling useless, he'd swung by Max's house and picked up the translation of the Destiny Book, wanting to read through it again to see if there was anything in it about them being able to 'infect' humans with their powers. He remembered what Ava had said-that Max healing Liz had made her different-and wished he could talk to the girl.

The Destiny Book was about as useful as the Granolith had turned out to be. It talked about the healing stones, a little, but those were for healing a sick alien. Then it mentioned that the King could use the healing stones to amplify his own natural abilities. Michael had a suspicion that if Max healing Liz was what had caused the problem in the first place, him 'healing' her again wouldn't do anything but make it worse. Besides, she wasn't sick-at least, not in the typical sense.

He'd been reading all night when Liz opened his apartment door just before dawn. "Michael?"

"What is it?"

In answer, she raised one of her hands. The long sleeve of the baggy sweater she was wearing fell back, showing her hands crackling with green lightning. "I think you'd better call the others."

"I will, just…come here a minute." He pulled her into his lap, keeping her close as he tried to tamp down the panic.

"It hurts," she hissed.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No, just the lightning…it feels like I'm being electrocuted." She fought back tears. "Michael, am I going to die?"

"No." He had a sinking feeling that, even though he'd promised that he'd never lie to her, he might be breaking it. "I won't let you," he added, and that part was true. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Not really," she admitted, the words a little shaky.

"Why don't you go lie down? We're gonna have to go through some of the old papers Nacedo left, maybe call Langley. It'll take time. And when my powers are out of whack, not sleeping always makes it worse."

"Okay. I could lie down for a bit."

"Are you hungry?"

"A little."

He opened the refrigerator. "I have…um. The rest of the pizza you brought over Monday night."

"Mmm…sounds great."

"Hot sauce and jellybeans, Liz?"

"Mmhm," she agreed, already reaching for a slice and taking a bite.

"I don't know if I should be more worried, or less."

"Shtut up," she suggested around another mouthful. "Ish delishush."

"Yes, ma'am." He watched as she leaned against the counter and ate two slices of pizza dripping in liquid fire without so much as a wince, then started poking around in his kitchen.

"Michael…when was the last time you cleaned your fridge?"

"Uh…Iz cleaned it when I moved in," he admitted.

"That was two years ago!"

"Liz…maybe this is not the best time to worry about my refrigerator."

"Probably not, but I need something else to concentrate on. Go call the others, okay? I'll try to tire myself out, and then maybe I can get some sleep."

"All right."

By the time Michael had called-and woken up-Max, Kyle, Valenti, and Isabel, and explained the situation, Liz had wiped down the inside of the fridge with soap and bleach, scraped the rotted goo out of the vegetable trays, and was busy defrosting his freezer.

"You know," she said, "The more often you do this, the less disgusting it is."

"I'll take that under advisement."

"Yeah, I'm sure you will."

"Nope, probably not," he agreed. "Feeling any better?"

"Lightning stopped," she replied, her head inside the freezer compartment as she chipped ice with a plastic spatula. "You know, if you do this every once in a while-" she chipped a particularly large chunk to emphasize her point- "you can fit more than a single tray of ice cubes in the freezer. Like maybe some pistachio ice cream?"

"Uh-huh." Michael sat on one of the barstools at the counter and started paging through the destiny book translation again.

"You know." There was an exceptionally long pause. "You haven't told me that you love me yet."

Michael thought about that for a second. "No. I guess I haven't," he realized. "God, Liz, I'm an idiot. You know I love you!" he added, a little desperately, because all of a sudden he wasn't sure that she did.

"Of course I do," she assured him matter-of-factly. "But especially when stuff like this is going on, it's nice to hear."

"I love you a lot," he said simply, then frowned because it sounded kind of lame and unconvincing. "I love you more than my bike," he added, and it was a little corny and a little ridiculous. And true. Definitely true. And he knew that he could say that to her, and she would take it as it was meant.

She giggled. "That much? Wow," she observed, with only a hint of sarcasm. She lifted her face for a kiss, then sighed. "I think I can sleep now. I'm going to lie down, okay?"

"Sure, honey. You can change into one of my shirts if you want."

"Michael?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For being what I needed." She said it like it was simple; like he had any idea what he was doing when it came to the man-woman thing. And it made him feel like maybe he did. If he kept getting things right consistently, how long could he really consider it a fluke?

oOo

Liz was pretty sure that she wouldn't be able to sleep, never mind what she'd said to Michael. But she changed into one of his button-down shirts and rolled up the sleeves, and when she climbed into his bed, the pillows smelled like him, oranges and spice and the desert, and she was asleep before her next breath.

She was woken by Michael's hand on her shoulder. "You need to wake up, Liz."

"Mmm. What is it?"

"Max called Langley. He says we have to come to LA, he's sending his plane. We leave in an hour."

"An hour? Michael, what…?" She rubbed one hand over her eyes.

"He said if you have Cadmium X poisoning we don't have a whole lot of time."

"The stuff that was on Pierce's bones?"

"Yes. Apparently its' a residue that we leave behind whenever we use our powers, and it takes a lot of energy to bring someone back from the dead, which equals high exposure."

"So I've been exposed to a heavy metal on the molecular level, and it's altering me the same way. Poison, or maybe cancer, and any of you using your powers to try and fix it will only make it worse."

"Yeah," Michael said. He knew it was blunt, and a lot to dump on her in the space of a minute, but they didn't have time for a lot of coddling, and she always dealt with a crisis better when she had a handle on all the details.

"But Cal thinks he can fix it?"

"Yeah."

"Good." She sat up. "Let's go."

oOo

The jet that waited had a fully stocked wet bar and two perky flight attendants, even at half past yawn. They were going with Max. _This won't be awkward at all,_ Michael mused sarcastically. Max was giving him weird looks, either because Liz was wearing his shirt over her clothes and sleeping on his shoulder, or because he'd come along at all, Michael couldn't tell.

There was a limo waiting at the airport, and it took them directly to Langley's mansion. The man himself answered the door. "Well, if it isn't King Nothing," he sneered.

Michael snorted with laughter. "On your throne, all alone," he muttered.

Langley shot him an appreciative glance. "Since you're here, you might as well come in."

"Thank you for doing this," Max was saying, awkwardly. "After what happened last time…"

"Shove the gratitude, kid," was his gruff reply. "I hate you. I'd kill you if I could. I'm only cleaning up your mistake because you ordered me to, and I'm kind of curious to see the girl worth going to the White Room for. So far, I'm not impressed."

Liz looked him up and down, rather insolently, considering he was a movie mogul and a shapeshifter who could kill her in a fingersnap. "So far, neither am I."

He barked a laugh. "You've got moxie, I'll give you that. Give me your hand and I'll have a look." He took her offered hand and held it, closing his eyes briefly. His eyelids fluttered, and he frowned. Finally he let go. "Well. That was unexpected."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Max demanded.

"All in my own good time, your Majesty." He smirked. "Why don't you and your second take a walk. I need to talk to the queen, here."

Very reluctantly, Max and Michael both crossed the enormous entryway and headed for the patio. Langley guestured for her to follow him into the living room, and she did. He sat down and started laughing. He laughed until tears rolled down his face. "It's too perfect," he howled. "He couldn't take his eyes off you, and you're doing Soldier-boy! It's like a plot out of one of my movies! I'll help you just for that."

"Okay. That's half the deal."

"What more do you want than your life?"

"I want you to use your influence to get Michael an interview with the Bay Academy of the Arts in San Francisco."

"That's a long way from Harvard, kid."

"Not from Berkeley," Liz returned.

"And why should I help you? The only one who can order me around isn't going to lift a finger to help your boyfriend once he finds out what's going on."

"Because you're not the only one who saw things. And I saved a Gandarium sample, not to mention I have some of Laurie Dupree's blood."

"No, no, no," he said, wagging his finger, scolding her. "Don't try to play a player, little girl. The Gandarium's useless with the queen of the hive dead."

Liz shook her head. "I'm close to being able to activate it chemically. If what we had before was the strength of a virus, this will be like a vaccine. I wouldn't be able to create a hybrid embryo with your essence, but with compatible genetic material I should be able to…infect you with humanity. Enough to give you some sensation. Isn't that what you want more than anything?"

He raised one eyebrow. "And you think you can do that, hmm?"

"No promises, but I'm going to major in molecular biology. I already know what you are, and I won't expose you. In San Francisco, I'll be able to come down here on weekends every time I need to run a trial. I'm your best chance, and you know it. Unless, of course, you'd like to wait another thirty years to be able to smell chlorine."

"All you want is an interview?"

"And a word of recommendation. And a scholarship."

"For him or for you?"

"For him. I've already been offered a scholarship. Early acceptance."

He raised one eyebrow. "You're smart, ruthless and devious. You would have made a good queen."

Liz blinked a couple of times. "I'm not sure that's a compliment."

"It's the best one you're going to get from me. Now. As for the small matter of your life. I suddenly find myself quite interested in assuring your survival."

"I was more or less counting on that," Liz observed dryly. "So how bad is it?"

"The only thing you're in danger of dying from is old age."

That was so far from what she'd expected to hear that her brain couldn't process it. "Excuse me?"

"No Cadmium X poisoning. No cancer. The residue has altered your genes, but you're not going to die from it."

"I'm not?"

"You're developing Antarian cells. Think of it as an intra-species bone marrow transplant."

"I'm developing Antarian cells," she repeated incredulously.

"Is there an echo in here? _Yes._ As in, congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Parker-" he spread his hands and smiled- "it's an alien."

She was going to be like Max, Michael and Isabel. She definitely hadn't expected that one. "What are my powers going to be?" she asked at last, feeling overwhelmed.

"What am I, a fortune cookie? You'll know when you get 'em." He pulled out a Treo, and started consulting the screen. When she stayed seated, he said without looking up, "That's it. Go home. Don't call me, I'll call you."

"All right." Liz stood up. "Thanks for nothing, I guess."

That earned her one sharp look through lilac-tinted shades. "Hey, more flies with honey, kid. You still want a favor out of me for something you might or might not be able to do, so watch your mouth."

"I'll think about it," Liz shot back.

He laughed. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Limo's waiting. Get your lapdogs and get out of my sight. I have things to do."

Shaking her head, Liz wandered out of the room and in the same direction Max and Michael had gone.

oOo

Max's brooding silence was so loud, it was giving Michael a headache. "For the millionth time, Maxwell, if whatever is wrong with Liz was caused by you healing her, you healing her _again_ will only make it worse. Stop thinking about it."

"But what if Langley can't do anything?"

"Then we look for Ava. Contact Larek. Take her to a witch doctor. I'm not letting her die, so don't worry about it."

"How can I not?"

_Because she's mine now! Back off. _But that probably would not be smart. So Michael didn't say it. "Let's not burn that bridge until we get to it."

"You two can stop moping," Liz said from the doorway. "I'm okay."

"What do you mean, you're okay?" Max demanded.

"I'm okay. Not dying. I'm just growing some little green cells."

"I was praying it was something like that." Michael felt his whole body slump with relief. "So you're getting powers, like us?"

"Uh-huh. And I'm guessing they're going to be a little wacky until I learn how to control them. Yours were like that, weren't they?"

"Everything but spewing pea soup," Michael confirmed. "Especially when I was…agitated." And what he meant by that was, _No kissing around anything flammable._

"Okay. Well. I don't know about you, but I've definitely had enough of L.A."

"You have no idea," Michael agreed with feeling. "Let's get the hell out of here."

oOo

Kyle wasn't sure if anyone had thought to call Maria in New York. He was pretty sure not. But he knew that just because she'd moved away, that didn't mean she wouldn't want to know that her best friend was possibly dying. So he picked up a calling card on his way home from work and called her.

"Hello, Maria Deluca here. Sorry to miss your call, I'm recording my first album right now! If this is ET calling for an exclusive, leave me a name and number, and I'll call you back!"

"Maria, it's Kyle. Liz collapsed a couple of days ago. She almost died, and now she's setting things on fire and getting green lightning under her skin. Max and Michael took her to see Cal Langley. We don't know what's wrong, but it's really…it's bad, and I thought you should know. Call back when you get this, or…come home if you can. God, of course you can't. I don't know why I called. Screw it. Bye."

oOo

_I like Langley. Well, really, I love the character actor who plays him, but tomato, to-mah-to. Either way, you'll be seeing more of him._


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Oh, _come on._ Seriously, now. If I owned them, I would _so_ have better things to do than write.

A/N: Astara12 is like a Michael psychic or something. She wanted a Maria-Finds-Out. When she requested it, I had already had it written for, like, six months. And just for y'alls future reference, don't write the beginning of a fic, and then a piece in the middle, because your brain will get stuck on the way. In Chapter Six. Twice.

Chapter Three

Michael crashed when they got back from L.A. It was as though, now that the holiday crises were over, his body decided it needed all the sleep he'd been too worried to get over the past two weeks. The pounding on the door late Friday night woke him up.

He opened it, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and was almost bowled over by Maria. "Michael, Michael, what is going on?" she gasped.

"Maria? What the hell are you doing here?" he grunted.

"Kyle called me. He said Liz was dying."

"She isn't. She's fine."

"Then what was all that stuff about her collapsing and lighting stuff on fire?" she demanded.

"She is. We went to see Langley in L.A., and he said she's fine. It's a side effect of Max healing her, that's all."

"Oh, thank God." She sank onto his couch. "I've been _freaking_ out. Liz wasn't home, and all I got from anyone else was voicemail! Do you guys not answer your phones anymore?"

"Isabel's in Houston with Jesse, Liz is at an Astronomy Club study group, and I don't know what Max and Kyle are doing. I _was_ sleeping. Why did you come back? I thought you were in the middle of recording."

"Finished yesterday, thank God. Dominique is having cats as it is. I told her it was a family emergency."

"Well, crisis averted. You can go back." Michael knew he was being rude, but he felt like he was being unfaithful to Liz just by being alone with Maria. In his head he knew it was stupid, but his gut reactions didn't even have a nodding acquaintance with logic.

"That's not the only reason I came back, Michael," she said in a soft tone.

She wouldn't look at him, and the way she'd said his name had the back of his brain screaming, _Danger! Danger, Will Robinson! _"It isn't?"

"No. I miss you."

_She had to say it._ "Maria, you left me for someone else. It's been months. Did you think I was just going to wait?" he demanded. It was clear from the shock on her face that yes, she did think he was just going to wait.

"Michael-"

"No! I never did anything right, Maria. Why the hell would you want me back anyway?"

"Because of this!" Maria shot back, and then she kissed him.

The habit of years and the lingering sleep hangover fuzzed Michael's brain, and he kissed her back. Only for a minute-only long enough to ruin everything.

"Michael?" Drywall exploded, one chunk striking Michael's back.

He sprang back from Maria with a curse. "Liz?" His girlfriend was standing in the open doorway.

"Omigod, Liz!" Maria shrieked, gaping at the hole she'd blown in the wall.

"Liz, it wasn't what it looked like!" Michael protested before he thought, then winced at the overused cliché.

"Really?" Liz shot back, her hands crackling with green energy. "Because it looked like you were _kissing her!"_

Michael went to her, pulling her close even when she punched him in the stomach, a girly tap with more anger than skill behind it. He threaded his fingers through her hair and forced her to look at him. "I'm not Max," he reminded her gently.

"I know that," she gasped wretchedly, trying to fight off tears. "It's just…Tess…"

"I know," he soothed, stroking his thumb over her cheek to remove a smudge of drywall dust. "Liz, hey. Look at me. I'm crazy about you, okay?"

"Michael-"

"Okay?" he repeated, a little more forcefully.

She took a shaky breath, nodded. "Okay."

"Okay. So switch off the Christmas lights." Liz made a face and zapped him. "Ow!"

"Christmas lights," she muttered. "Jerk. They hurt, and it's _all your fault._"

He only smiled, because he knew she didn't mean it. "I'm sorry, honey," murmured, resting his forehead against hers, their lips almost touching. When he was sure he was forgiven, he let her go.

Maria was sitting on the couch again, her chin trembling. "Liz…you and _Michael?_ For God's sake, when?"

"About a week ago," she admitted. "Maria-_why_ were you…?"

"I kissed him," she confessed grudgingly. "I think he tried to tell me…I didn't really want to hear it. Max said you were just friends."

"Max doesn't know yet," Liz admitted.

"Are you insane?" She looked at Michael. "He's gonna kill you when he finds out." She was silent for a moment. "Liz-God. I can't _believe _you'd do this to me!"

"I'm not doing anything to you," Liz pointed out. "I'm sorry you're hurting, 'Ria, but this isn't about you."

"How can you say that? You _know _how I feel about him!"

"Maria, you left!" Michael barked. "You went halfway across the country to be with someone else, and it just about killed me. So you don't get to sit there and make Liz feel guilty!"

"Michael-"

"No," he cut her off. "I stayed for you, and that wasn't enough. I need someone I can be enough for." The raw echoes of pain in his voice did what all the yelling couldn't. Maria shut up.

"I'm sorry," she said after a long, stunned pause. "I had no idea…I _never_ meant to hurt you like that, Michael."

Liz stood. "I think I should go," she suggested, twisting her fingers together. "You guys need to talk." Michael glanced at her, and even though he didn't say it out loud, she knew he wanted her to stay. "Or, you know what, I'll put in a load of laundry."

Maria's eyebrows scaled her forehead. "You do his _laundry?"_

"He works two jobs and goes to school, Maria," Liz reminded her as she disappeared into Michael's bedroom. "He's not Superman."

"That doesn't mean you have to-" she retorted, still outraged.

"I know that." She came out of his room with an armful of sheets. "I want to. He does nice things for me too."

"Well, I guess…" she said at last, clearly nonplussed. "But you just don't _fit._ I mean, you and Max were soulmates, Liz. It was _destiny._"

Liz shrugged. "I don't believe in destiny anymore." She went into the kitchen, and they heard the squeak of louvered doors and the hum of the washing machine filling up.

Michael held up one hand. "Don't, Maria."

"I didn't say anything!"

"It was a pre-emptive strike." He sat down on one of the stools at the counter. "I'm not having that conversation with you."

"Michael, you heard her!" Maria barrelled ahead, despite his warning. "This is Liz we're talking about! Since _when_ doesn't she believe in destiny?"

"Since my destiny got someone else pregnant!" Liz shot back, coming back into the living room, clearly pissed. "Since my _destiny_ let the bitch who killed Alex just _leave_, and doesn't even realize he reminds me of that _every single time_ he mentions his son! Destiny screwed me! There is _nothing_ romantic about being miserable all the time!"

"Liz…you weren't always miserable." She paused a minute. "Were you?" she added uncertainly.

"For the past year and a half, yeah, I was. Most of the time. And when I wasn't miserable, I was confused or angry or caught up in the whole star-crossed-lovers melodrama. I don't want to live like that. And even if I could go back, to the way things were before Tess…I wouldn't want to. I'm happier with Michael."

"You don't have to say that." He wouldn't look at her while he spoke. "I know he was the love of your life. I'm okay with it. Being second is still pretty damned good."

"Don't be a bonehead," she replied affectionately. "One of these days you'll believe me, and until then, you'd be better off not to say things you'll just have to take back."

"Liz-"

"Shush," she advised him. "You get in so much less trouble if you just keep your mouth shut."

Maria snorted. "Good luck. I've been telling him that for two years. Does he listen?"

"Are we okay, 'Ria?" Liz asked with a soft, wry smile.

"No," she admitted. "But I think we will be. It's just…going to take me some time to get used to this. A lot of time," she added, shaking her head. "This is _totally_ out of left field."

"I really am sorry," Liz said again. "This wasn't the best way to find out."

"Kinda sucked," she agreed. "But on the upside, at least you're not dying. The relief should make the whole you-boinking-my-ex thing easier to take."

"Uh…Maria, we're not…" Michael started, then rubbed at his eyebrow and looked away, not sure how to finish that sentence.

She glanced from Liz to Michael. They looked equally embarassed and uncomfortable. "_Oh._" She bit her lip on a grin. "So you haven't seen that weird green thing yet?"

Liz gaped. "Maria!"

"I do _not_ have a 'weird green thing!' " Michael protested.

"Now, Spaceboy, it's nothing to be ashamed of…" she managed to assure him between guffaws.

He shook his head, half amused and half disgusted. "Well, your bizarre sense of humour seems to be in fine working condition, so I guess we're gonna be okay. I've got work at two-I'm going back to bed." He kissed Liz's cheek. "You two try not to break anything."

"You're just going to leave us here unsupervised?" Maria grinned rather evilly. "To drink your Snapple, reprogram your remote and put your CDs in the wrong cases?"

He froze, but didn't turn. "You wouldn't."

"I _so _would."

"Maria-"

"And he has a bunch of sketchbooks around here somewhere, that no one is allowed to look at," Maria advised Liz. "I've only caught glimpses at best. And now that you have powers, you can totally unlock that closet where he keeps all his paintings."

"Um." Liz wouldn't meet Maria's eyes. "I've already seen his sketchbooks."

"And his paintings?"

"He gave some away for Christmas. I asked to see the rest, but he says he's working on one that he wants to finish before I see it."

"Huh." Maria blinked back tears. "I'm really trying not to be hurt, right now," she said to Michael. "In two years you never trusted me that much. I know with the way things turned out, you probably feel like you had good reason, but it would have been nice. You and Liz have been hanging out, what, a month? Two months?"

"Two months," Michael confirmed in a low voice.

"Two months." She exhaled slowly. "When we hit the two month mark, I think you'd already dumped me twice."

"I know I hurt you. And I'm sorry." He studied the carpet like there was going to be a test later. "I'm able to be with Liz because I've grown up a lot the last couple years, and a big part of that was because of you. So…thank you."

"Well. You're welcome. I guess." She took a slow, steadying breath. "I'm going to go now, I think. Get in some Mom time. I'll see you later, Liz?"

"Sure, 'Ria." Liz wanted to hug her friend, but didn't think it would be welcomed. "We'll have lots of ice cream and you can tell me all about New York."

"Okay." Her smile was a little wobbly, but it was real. "That'd be great. I'll call you."

"Maria?"

"Yeah?"

"No matter what happens. You're my best friend, and I love you."

A full-on grin this time, even though it didn't reach her eyes. "Back atcha, _chica._"

oOo

_I have my moments of liking Maria. This chapter turned out to be one of them. After the initial heated reaction, she handles several shocks in a row with humour and class. Inspired by the end of the M/M subplot in 'Significant Others.'_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: _Puh-_lease. Either you've got it by now, or you're never going to. Not. Mine.

A/N: Okay, I totally stole a line in this from _Ch-Ch-Changes._ I love Kyle.

Chapter Four

"Kyle, what are you doing?" Liz asked, watching him add tabasco sauce to his eggs. It was the Sunday morning shift at the Crashdown, and all the tables were full of families doing the post-church brunch thing.

"Checking for alien cells." He took a forkful of egg, doused it in syrup, then put it in his mouth and chewed. Swallowed. "Okay, that was disgusting."

"No static yet?" Liz asked, rather sympathetically.

"No, but I got healed like a year after you did, so maybe I've just got this totally cool window of time where I get to obsess about it," he observed with a sickly half-smile.

"It's not so bad." Liz winced, remembering that she'd melted her favorite Billie Holliday CD that morning. "Mostly. At least you know it's coming."

"Yeah, in the fall semester of my freshman year of college, because I won't have enough to worry about already. No offense, but I was kind of looking forward to escaping the…Czechoslovakian chaos after graduation."

"It's better than dying of cancer or heavy metal poisoning. Besides, think of all the fun you'll have with supercool alien powers," Liz pointed out. "I mean, once you learn how to use them without blowing stuff up."

He brightened. "Yeah, true. The practical joke possibilities alone are worth it."

"Oh, God, I never should have said anything..."

"No, really," he enthused, downright cheery at the thought. "When Isabel wanted to get back at Max for not letting her go to college, we had _so_ much fun-"

"When was this?" Liz interrupted with a frown. She didn't recall anything about it.

"After Alex died, when Max was being an ass." Kyle shrugged. "I don't think she enjoyed it as much as I did. She _does_ love the guy. No accounting for some people's taste," he added around a mouthful of egg.

"Kyle," she admonished. "Shut up."

"What? What'd I say? You dumped him-you obviously saw the light."

"_Kyle,"_ she hissed again, more repressively this time.

"What?" The light slowly dawned. "He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"

"Oh, yeah."

He winced, then sucked it up and turned around. "Hey, Max. How's it going?"

"Next time we play basketball, I'm going to fuse your sneakers to the pavement," he replied in the same conversational tone, looking annoyed. His ears were red at the tips-embarassment or temper, it was hard to say. "I need to talk to Liz."

"Talk away," Kyle suggested, clearly lacking the gene that told people when to shut up.

Liz shook her head a couple of times, knowing that he was being deliberately obnoxious. She moved down to the end of the counter, Max mirroring her before taking a seat. "What is it, Max?"

"How'm I supposed to hear everything when you're way down there?" Kyle moaned once before attacking his breakfast again.

"What's with him?"

"His wonderful future as an Antarian subject staring him in the face. He's just blowing off steam."

"Yeah, I guess he must be really freaked out. You were."

"Less so now that I know what it is. I mean, ever since I found out where you're from, I've wondered what it was like…"

"Having secret powers?" he finished for her. "Dangerous, mostly."

"Like I haven't been in danger without them? At least this way, I get some of the fun, too." A spark jumped from her finger to a napkin holder, and she winced. "Eventually. But I know you didn't come here to have this conversation over the milkshake machine with my Dad watching your every move. What's up, Max?"

"Mom and Dad are having a dinner party tonight. With everything that happened, the last couple of weeks, I forgot about it. Anyway, it's going to be a bunch of lawyers, one of Jesse's friends from Harvard and this couple from Santa Fe that my dad knows, and it'll be really boring-not a winning argument, I know-but I have to be there, and I'd love some company."

"Max-"

He interrupted, already hearing the denial in her voice. "It's not a date. Friends. Isabel and Jesse will be there too."

"Michael's picking me up after shift. We're going to his place to work on my powers. I need as much help as I can get before school on Monday."

"I get that, but Liz, maybe Michael isn't the best one to be teaching you. He's always had the worst control-"

"That's because his powers are the most volatile, did you ever think of that?" Liz hissed, insulted on Michael's behalf. "I'm melting things, starting fires. Last night I scorched my sheets in my sleep. You heal, Max. Isabel dreamwalks. Neither of you have ever had these kinds of problems."

"I still don't think-"

"_I_ do. I understand that you want to help, and I appreciate it. Really. But let me ask you a question. What would be your first piece of advice?"

"I-I don't know," he admitted. "I'd just…show you how to use them, I guess."

"Michael's teaching me tai chi."

"I didn't know he knew tai chi," Max admitted after a stunned moment. A frown formed between his eyes, and he looked at her, clearly wondering what that had to do with their conversation.

"Tess recommended it. He goes to classes at the Y when he has the time. He's taught me breathing exercises, too, and some meditation techniques that he learned from River Dog. His first advice was to find something that made me calm. And to concentrate on that, to hold it in my mind until it was always there, and I could find it any time my powers started getting out of my control." Liz decided not to mention that the calming influence she held in her mind was the thought of being in Michael's arms.

"Oh. I've never…my powers don't usually get away from me when I'm upset. I never would have thought to tell you that," he admitted.

_Because you're such a control freak that it's not an issue_, Liz thought, then immediately felt ashamed. The thought was unfair, and even though she hadn't voiced it, as penance, she forced herself to finish her explaination. "He also told me that emotion makes things worse, and he was right. Everything he's taught me since has helped with that. I've been inside your head, Max. I connected with Isabel when you were in New York. I had flashes from Nacedo too. I've asked every nosy, science-nerd question I could think of over the past three years-I already _know_ how you guys use your powers. What Michael is teaching me is how not to use them. You can't do that."

"Oh," he said again, and more than just his ears were red.

"I'm not trying to put you down," she insisted, wondering who she was convincing-him or herself? "But I hate hearing you talk about Michael like that. Like he's inferior, or stupid, or careless, because it's taken more for him to learn control. If anything, he probably had to work twice as hard as you did to be half as good. And he'd never endanger all of us for the sake of pride-if he really believed he wasn't the best one to teach me, he would have sent me to you himself."

"I know that," Max admitted reluctantly. "Okay. So you need to practice. You can cut out early from the party, Liz, but I'd still really like for you to be there."

Liz was still wary, although she couldn't pinpoint why. Then she realized that the tone in his voice was one she'd heard plenty of times before-it was the earnest, reasonable, slightly pleading one he used when he wanted to get back in her good graces. Maybe Max had even fooled himself into thinking he was only asking her as a friend-she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt-but in his heart of hearts, he was trying to make up with her.

It would never happen, wouldn't have even if she wasn't in love with Michael. It would be cruel to lead him on. She remembered something Amy Deluca had told her once, all well-intentioned and protective of her nephew's surprisingly tender heart. _Men can't be just friends with a woman that they're in love with, or even in serious like with. They're not verbal communicators, which is why you should never believe them when they tell you it's not what it looks like, because it's _always _exactly what it…never mind. Listen, honey, you can tell them you're not interested until you're blue in the face, but every time you hug them, or smile at them, or say yes to spending time together, they're going to interpret it as interest. And it's cruel to give them hope when you know there isn't any._ And considering their history-how many times they'd both said 'just friends' while wanting something more-Liz couldn't even fault Max for interpreting it that way.

Which meant she had to completely shut him down. Nothing halfway, nothing polite about how she really would love to go, but… Flat denial. But then she looked into Max's hopeful Bambi-brown eyes, and remembered how excruciatingly dull Phillip Evans' business dinner parties could be, and flat denial seemed just as cruel as false hope.

"Please? They'll talk about golf, Liz. They'll talk about handicaps and putting techniques and drink rum and coke, and then they'll get really wild, dig out old copies of Barrister's Monthly, and argue interpretations of legal precedents until my brains leak out my ears. And Isabel just eggs them on out of pure spite, then goes in the kitchen with Mom and plays Crazy Eights."

Liz remembered that as a pretty accurate interpretation of events. And now there were extra lawyers in the mix, which would only make it worse. "Why don't you just stay at the Valentis and watch ESPN Classic with Kyle? You're not even living there, Max, you don't have to go."

But Max was shaking his head. "My father hasn't asked any pointed questions in weeks. Since Christmas, we've actually been getting along. Mom said it would really mean a lot to him if I went. I've been enough of a disappointment to them this year-a few hours isn't too much to ask. No matter how mind-numbingly boring they turn out to be."

"I'm not saying yes for sure," she warned him. "I'll try bribing Michael with cookies, and if that doesn't work, I'll break out the guilt. If we show, we show."

Max's face froze halfway to a sickly rendition of a smile, and Liz knew he hadn't fooled himself about anything. He didn't want her there just as a friend. "Michael."

But she _was_ his friend, wanted to continue to be, so she smiled and said, "The more the merrier, right? What time?"

"Six."

"If I'm not coming, I'll call at eight thirty, and you can fake an emergency. Drunk friend needs a ride home, late term paper, Kyle set the kitchen on fire. We'll come up with something."

"All right," he said, though clearly, his heart wasn't in it. "Thanks, Liz."

She watched him go, thinking of something she'd said to her father only a month ago. _I'm not in love with Max anymore, but I'm not over him yet, either._ She felt no urge to run after him and tell him what he wanted to hear, the way she had the night he came back from California, and so many times since. He had risked everything to save her life, and she would love him for the rest of it for that. She would always be his friend. But they were over.

A small, secret part of her heart that had been weighed down with guilt and what-ifs lifted up. She felt that happy lift, and smiled. She was free.

She stood there, smiling at nothing for so long that a couple of customers stared. She didn't notice, and wouldn't have cared.

_It's over._

oOo

_I get so pissed when the other characters are down on Michael for not being as good at using his powers. Healing and dreamwalking are pretty difficult to use by accident, and aren't exactly something that would come out in a fit of temper. Blowing things up, or 'blasting' someone, on the other hand, would probably happen subconsciously with any strong emotion. Nature and nuture ganged up on Michael - he was a general on a planet at war in his previous life, then had the childhood from hell in his current one. It's a testament to his strength of will that he has as much control as he does, and I've totally wanted to have _someone _make Max see that. Hence my love of fanfic - I got to rant and Max had to listen. Well, sort of. I realize that they are not real people. Honest! They're just more interesting than a lot of the real people I know._


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Someday, my ship will come in. A big ship full of money. And I will buy the CW (the unholy alliance of the WB and UPN), and I will own them _all_. Along with Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Allison Hannigan, Eliza Dushku, James Marsters, David Boreanaz, Charisma Carpenter, J. August Richards, Amy Ackers, Christian Kane, and of course, the so-much-better-than-the-actual-Pierce-Brosnan-Pierce-Brosnany-goodness of Alexis Denisof! (Just the _Angel _post-S3 Alexis. They can keep _Buffy _Alexis, and Sarah Michelle Gellar. And Marc Blucas. And shockingly enough, Jason Behr. But, oh, I totally want Seth Green and Anthony Stewart Head, too). Ah, someday. pauses, wipes away drool Not today, apparently. I think my opening bid of the thirty-five dollars I won at Bingo would be met with hysterical laughter.

A/N: Yes, I play bingo. I have a collection of bingo dabbers. They have their own tote bag, and I also have a lucky stuffed monkey named Spank who helps me look for double kites (the Waterloo of prize patterns). To quote a certain airhead: "What? I can't have layers?" OMG, notemonster much? I wonder if they have an _Author's Notes Abusers Anonymous_. I need help. Seriously.

Chapter Five

"Okay, why are we doing this again?" Michael asked as they were walking up to the Evans' front door.

"Because Max is our friend and it would be mean to make him suffer alone," Liz replied piously.

"Uh-huh." He paused at the front stoop. "What's the real reason?"

Liz tried to be annoyed, but an errant snicker escaped. "Because I promised you cookies."

"Right. How many lawyers again?"

"At least five."

"I don't think cookies are gonna do it, Liz," he stated after a moment of judicious deliberation. "Sacrifice of this magnitude requires a better bribe. A kinky sexual favor, maybe. Something with outfits." It was a joke, and he fully expected a swat of annoyance, or a huff. Maybe a blush. Liz didn't just blush with her cheeks-her chest got pink, too, and Michael thought it was about the cutest thing he'd ever seen.

Instead she shot him a smoldering look, then suggested in a smoky voice, "How about I pretend to be the naughty baker's wife? And you can be my customer. There can be all kinds of innuendoes about 'hot buns' and 'satisfying your sweet tooth.' _And_ cookies." She winked, then knocked on the door.

Michael had a sudden, intensely vivid mental picture of Liz in a frilly white apron and nothing else, asking if he wanted his 'treat' chocolate glazed, or with sprinkles. He was attempting to disguise the expected physical reaction when he was suddenly faced with Diane Evans.

"Hello, Michael. Liz! It's so good to see you again, honey. Max said you two might be coming by." She hugged Liz, then turned to Michael with open arms.

It was official. His girlfriend had a streak of diabolical cruelty worthy of an evil genius. He plastered a smile on his face and fended Mrs. Evans off with a handshake. It was going to be a _really_ long night.

oOo

After dinner, chicken and some kind of noodly thing with capers that Michael made unsucessful attempts to pick out, Liz sat on the couch between Michael and Jesse's friend Craig from Harvard, wondering how fast she could learn to sleep with her eyes open.

A few really long blinks later, she was locking her jaw against a yawn and praying for an alien invasion. A flaming meteor. Food poisoning. Anything! And she heard 'Article Seven.'

"Can I pick your brains about something?" she asked suddenly. She'd studied the Federal Rules of Evidence as they related to forensic evidence because of her interest in molecular biology. The newest lauded time-of-death clock was the chemical breakdown of protein and fat molecules in the soil under a decaying body. After attending a lecture by Dr. Ann Kendricks the summer before, she'd read up on it out of curiousity. "I pretty much follow the meaning of all the rules in Article 7, you know, about witness testimony versus expert testimony, and the limits of an opinion as actual _fact_ to be presented to a jury. Except for Rule 704. I swear I've read it like a hundred times, but I get lost about three words in. Can any of you explain it to me, in actual English?"

"I'm afraid I'm not too familiar with that particular section, Liz," Phillip Evans said with a puzzled smile, which Liz deduced was Lawyer for 'Huh?'

Liz closed her eyes, making sure her mind was clear, then quoted the entire section from memory. It had irritated her so much to feel clueless that she had been determined to _memorize_ it, even if she couldn't understand it, and…she really was the dorkiest person she knew.

All the lawyers were staring. So was Max. And Michael. Liz was thankful Isabel and Diane were in the kitchen playing Crazy Eights. "Well?"

"I'll be honest, that has to be one of the more…convoluted phrases in the Federal Rules of Evidence," Craig offered. Which she decided was Lawyer for 'I have no clue.'

There was another spate of silence, then Michael said, "Slap me down if I'm wrong here, but it _sounds_ like the subcomittee that put this together recognized that the public-you know, jurors-tend to take a scientist's word as gold. And in some states, insanity is still a defense, right? So because they're only giving an opinion, even an expert witness doesn't get the last word on the defendant's mental state, because that's…that's giving them too much power." He paused, but no one was jumping in to tell him he was nuts. "So, basically, only the lawyers get to wrangle about mental competency, because it's too integral to the jury's decision. And the public doesn't trust lawyers. So _they_ have to prove it. And each side gets their experts, and their arguments, and that way, it's fair. But on other stuff, expert witnesses can just kind of say, 'this is how it is,' and they don't always have to explain how they got from point A to point D, and what they say is taken as fact. Because that's why they're experts."

Phillip blinked a couple of times. Jesse started grinning. "Exactly," he said. "I am proud to lose to you at basketball, Michael."

Looking faintly pleased, and not at all as though he had just demonstrated a brilliant understanding of both the American legal system and the English language, Michael leaned back on the couch and said, "Thanks, man."

The lawyers made embarassed lawyer noises. The Halvorsons, Mr. Evans' friends from Santa Fe, started looking around the room. "That's a beautiful painting, Phillip," Gina Halvorson said, seizing on a new topic. "Where did you buy it?"

"Michael gave it to us for Christmas," Phillip replied, studying Michael with a bemused air.

"Michael, would you mind giving us the name of the artist? We just moved into a larger house, and we've been looking for pieces from local artisans. His use of color is almost surreal…I can practically feel the sunlight, how heavy the heat gets at the end of August. I would love to get some of his other work before he gets discovered. I have a feeling the pieces would be a real investment," she enthused.

"I painted it," Michael said, his hand tightening on Liz's knee and betraying his attempt at nonchalance. "But my work's not for sale. Thanks anyway."

"Are you sure?" Gina pressed, her eyes gleaming with bulldog tenacity, and Michael got his first glimpse of the sucessful litigator under the veneer of a plump older lady with a sweet face. "I could make you a very competitive offer. Say, five thousand each for six or seven larger pieces?"

Michael suddenly had trouble swallowing. _Thirty thousand dollars._ Art had kept him sane. Each painting was a little chunk of his soul. But all those bits of his soul were locked up in a closet where they rarely saw the light of day, never mind eyes besides his own, and she was offering him thirty thousand dollars the way most people would ask if he'd like fries with his Will Smith burger. One part of him was screaming, _Take it, you idiot!_ when he gathered enough spit to say, "No, thank you."

She leaned forward, like a bloodhound on a scent trail. "Seven thousand."

_Jesus, lady, are you trying to kill me?_ "I'm sorry."

"Ten."

He tried very hard not to run the math on that, because he was pretty sure it would make his eyes roll back in his head. But while math had never been his strong suit, he could sure as hell multiply by ten. Or ten thousand. _Ten thousand dollars._ No, scratch that. _Sixty thousand dollars._ Michael heard his resolve crumbling. "It's not about money," he tried to explain, while an avaricous inner voice was hollering, _It is if it's about that much money!_ "I don't want to paint for a living. Art's really personal to me, and it was one thing to give a piece away to a friend, or the parents of a friend, but I don't think I could sell it."

Liz put her hand on his and squeezed. When he glanced at her, she mouthed, _I'm so proud of you,_ and he felt much less stupid for turning Gina Halvorson down.

"I think that's true for all artists," she was saying, clearly not giving up. "All of the good ones, anyway, and it's admirable that you only paint because you love it. But the reason your work is so powerful is _because_ you put so much of yourself into it. If you share that with the world, it's a gift, and one that will give you enough money to do almost anything you want. You could paint every day, not just when you have the time. You could-"

"Honey, you're badgering the witness," Steven Halvorson pointed out. "Change the subject."

She had the grace to look embarassed. "Here's my card," she said, pulling a small white square out of her purse. "Think about it. Call me if you change your mind."

"I will."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're lying through your teeth, but thank you," she said perceptively. "I know I was rude."

"It's all right," he assured her. "And I really will think about it." She accepted that as the truth, and it was. Michael knew that, short of a mindwarp, it would be pretty much impossible to think about anything else.

oOo

He had, clearly, underestimated the distraction that was Elizabeth Parker in a backless dress and a playful mood, he decided two hours later. She'd called her parents to say she was spending the night at Joanie's so they could proofread their America to 1914 end-of-term essays together. Michael had to give her credit for a superior lie. Instead, they were twined around each other on his couch paying no attention whatsoever to the movie on the television screen.

"Are you really staying the night?" he gasped against the nape of her neck, his mind going places it should not be going, not after a week, no matter how much he loved her or where her hands were.

"I didn't bring my backpack so we could study," was her breathless reply, then she muffled his expressions of gratitude to a suddenly generous God with her lips.

A few delirious eternities later, Michael aknowledged that they either had to stop, or they would go past the point of no return. Or he would go insane. They'd moved to his bed, and at some point he'd lost his shirt and Liz had lost her shoes, her hairclip and most of her inhibitions. He started to pull back, and her dress was hitched up enough that he could see what he'd assumed was pantyhose was actually a garter belt and stockings, and he had to kiss her again for that.

She made a murmurous sound that was probably consent, her fingers sliding down the small of his back and under the waistband of his jeans. She wanted him, and he wanted her. He loved her, she loved him. She was doing her best to get him naked, and he was doing his best to help.

He'd done this before. She hadn't.

Red light.

"Liz. Honey?"

"Ummmm." He'd denied her his mouth, so hers moved lower.

As gently as he could, he pushed her away, until they could look at each other without going cross-eyed. "It's getting really late, and we have school in the morning. We should try to get some sleep."

"Oh." Her eyes slowly focused, then moved past him to the clock. "You're right," she said, but she didn't sound like she meant it.

"No, really. I love you, but your father scares me. I'll have enough nightmares about the meat grinder without us sleeping through first period." A blatant lie, but what else could he say that wouldn't start a fight?

"Okay." She smiled, nodded, got up. He saw the tense set of her shoulders and braced himself for an arguement. But she raided his t-shirt drawer, disappeared into the bathroom, and came out ten minutes later with clean teeth and a sleepy smile. She climbed under the blankets and into his arms without a hint of anger, her head fitting perfectly on his shoulder. "I've never slept with someone before," she confessed around a yawn.

"Me neither," he realized with a start. Sex, yes. Sleeping, no. Maria had never spent the night.

"Really?"

"Really." She draped one leg over his, and her hair spilled across his chest, dark silk that smelled like vanilla and jasmine. He kissed the top of her head, and ruefully aknowledged that he wouldn't be getting any sleep.

But he'd underestimated the basic animal comfort of lying in bed with a loved one curled close, or overestimated his hormones. One knee came up, forming the _Hanged Man_ position that he always slept in, and he was out within minutes.

oOo

_I figured twelve steps could be applied to all addictions, even an addiction to Author's Notes. So I checked it out. The first step is admitting you have a problem. Did that. Then there's a bunch of stuff about God. I'm pagan-monotheism doesn't really do it for me. So, I skipped that part. Then it says you should apologise. I forget what step that is, but anyway, I am heartily sorry, you guys, that I run off at the mouth like a soup sandwich. Or is it run off at the keyboard? Or fingers? And if it _is '_run off at the fingers' (or keyboard), what would the similie be? _Nnnngggghhh! other nonverbal expressions of rage _This isn't just for your amusement. I am actually this rambly in my own head all the time, and sometimes it leaks out my mouth or onto the computer screen. Forget twelve steps! My brain needs a leash._


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Someday, if I'm very good, and kind to children, small animals, the fashion-challenged, and Bingo callers who stutter; if I eat all my vegetables, even celery, call my parents every week, and never, never talk back to the Wicked Stepmonster even though she is the definition of _criminally stupid;_ then if I ask Jason Katims very nice, they will be mine. _Ha. Ha. Haaaaa._

A/N: This took so much longer than I expected to be posted, and I did kind of skimp on chapters 6 and 7 for _IYE: The Light_, so I decided you guys totally deserve a bonus chapter. Good things come to those who wait (Oops, my ego's showing). Okay. New fic comes to those who wait. And wait. And wait… In the future, feel free to nag me electronically. Patience may be a virtue, but it's not one of mine, and if you pile on the guilt, I will make the trip out to my Gramma Shirlee's to post (she lets me save files to her hard-drive, adjust her browser settings, expose her system to a cornucopia of viruses and spyware doing last-minute cannon research on questionably hosted fan sites, and generally make a mess of her computer. And then I get a cookie! Because mothers scold. Grandmothers spoil).

Chapter Six

A month could go by fast.

Between school, work, mastering her powers (telekinesis, astral projection, and an affinity for fire, thank you very much), bowling on Saturdays, and sucking face with Michael whenever she had a spare moment or some privacy, Liz was amazed to realize January had happened when she wasn't looking. The fact that she was not looking forward to February _at all_ probably had something to do with it, too.

By February fifth, she was wishing one of her powers was to defy the second law of thermodynamics. No such luck. Time rolled right on despite her wishes. But that afternoon, when Michael went to put his arm around her waist as they were leaving the school, and then paused, and dropped his arm, she saw the way his eyes flinched. She'd been so frightened of everyone's reaction that she hadn't been looking.

_Men are not verbal communicators._

Amy Deluca's advice coming to her mind when she least wanted it to, the way good advice did. She'd told Michael that she loved him, that she wasn't ashamed of him. Big talk, with no actions to back it up. She'd been hiding her relationship with him like a dirty secret, and having the best of intentions didn't make it hurt him less.

"Michael."

He stopped walking. "What did you forget?"

She hooked two fingers through a belt loop on his jeans and tugged him close. "Tell Max," she said, before she lost her nerve.

He grinned crookedly, Michael the Cool, but he couldn't hide his relief. There was enough of it that Liz knew he'd been expecting her to extend her deadline. "Yeah?"

"Uh-huh." She put her arm around his neck. "Are you going to kiss me, or what?"

"Like you have to ask." And then he kissed her in front of God, West Roswell High, and Kyle Valenti, like he'd done it a hundred times before.

Liz dropped her books, and Michael chuckled at her loss of control. Their teeth clicked, and he hunched his shoulders a little to make up for their height difference, and everything was sunny and imperfect and wonderful, and Liz didn't even care that Pam Troy was making snarky comments about trashy public behavior.

Because when Michael kissed her, this time, for the first time, she saw him. She saw him as a little boy, ducking under barbed wire and a sign that read, _Pohlman Ranch_, and running, running, running. She saw him run from Hank, getting halfway to Nogales before he changed his mind. And more than that, she felt how weary he was of running and hiding. Of secrets and subterfuge and losing the people he cared about because of what he was.

_Run all you want, Michael Guerin,_ she promised him silently. _You'll never shake me loose._

oOo

It took Michael five minutes just to punch in Max's cell phone number. He was so relieved when it went to voicemail that he had to sit down and take a shaky breath before he could say, "It's Michael. Come by my apartment as soon as you get this. It's important."

Jesus, and he'd thought telling Maria was awkward. Maria had Billy. Maria lived in New York. Max lived in Roswell, and was still as obsessed with Liz Parker as he'd been when they were eight. Those two facts weren't about to change any time soon.

This would suck.

The thought was so depressing, he couldn't even get up from the couch long enough to turn the TV on.

The sun was setting when Michael heard his apartment door open. He didn't look up, knowing instinctively who it was. "Sit down, Maxwell."

"Michael, what's going on?" Max asked, but he sat.

_He's going to kill me,_ Michael thought. _And I deserve it._ "I've been seeing someone."

Max laughed, and Michael's eyes just about bugged out. "This isn't exactly news, Michael. You're always in a better mood when you're getting regular sex."

"Uh. Yeah. About that."

"You can't tell her, Michael."

"Not planning on it," he replied shortly. _God, Max, would you borrow a fucking clue?_

"Good." He paused. "Then why did you want to talk to me?"

"It's about Liz."

"Liz," he repeated.

"We've been seeing each other."

He went very still, no doubt hearing his own words echo endlessly in his head. _This isn't exactly news, Michael. You're always in a better mood when you're getting regular sex._ "You. And Liz. Are together." He blinked slowly, then repeated himself, as though hoping the words would make more sense the second time around. "You and Liz are together. Like _me_ and Liz were together."

Michael spread his hands helplessly. "Yeah."

"How long."

"Max-"

"_HOW. LONG._"

"Since Texas. When we came back, she told me…since Texas," he repeated.

"You _lied _to me?"

"If anyone had asked, Max, we would have told the truth! We _did _tell the truth! How many times did you ask Liz what she was doing, to hear, 'I'm having dinner with Michael,' or that we were going to the movies, or studying. But you just assumed that there was no possible way she could be interested in me!"

"No," Max ground out. "I _assumed_ there was no possible way you could betray me like that. I will _never_ forgive this. You're dead to me!" The door slammed behind him on his way out.

oOo

He was still sitting in the same position, elbows on knees, when Liz came by two hours later. She didn't say anything. He was grateful. Max had been his anchor for as long as he could remember, his friend for almost as long. They'd had their differences, but if those had been gaps, this was the Grand Canyon, and his grief was too private to share with anyone.

He watched, with only faint curiousity, as she went into his bedroom and came out with a backpack. She set it by the door, came out with his easel, a sketchbook, and his art kit. They joined the pile, along with six canvases almost as big as she was, and most of his CD collection.

She came back, took his hand, and tugged him to his feet. He followed without much interest. Her parents' car was parked outside. She nudged him in the direction of the open passenger door, and he went.

He sat and stared at nothing for a while. Rather distantly, he realized he was in shock, and, less distantly, that there was something dangerous about that. But he couldn't make himself care.

When he next took interest in his surroundings, he was in Liz's room. _Why is it I'm only in here when I'm sick or dying? _ he wondered irreverently. He knew he wasn't dying. But he felt like it.

He closed his eyes and pushed the world away.

oOo

He lost three days.

Michael had vague memories of eating, pacing, staring at nothing and listening to Liz explain to her parents as best she could without using words like _alien king_ and _suicidal._ Other than that, the only hints of her presence were the takeout containers that appeared on her desk while he was sleeping, and the sticky-notes that piled up on the bathroom mirror.

_I love you._

_It'll be okay._

_Kyle says hi._

_How many aliens does it take to change a lightbulb?_

_You have a Chem test on Thursday. My class notes are on the dresser._

_Go sit in the sun for a while._

_I love you, Michael. A lot. More than your bike._

_No one has ever seen Ho Chi Minh and Colonel Saunders together. Coincidence? Or government secret?_

_The pilot episode of Bewitched was on. I taped it for you._

The sun came up. It went down. Michael got tired of silence, punched _And Justice For All _ into Liz's stereo, and cranked it up as loud as it could go. No one complained. Which was convenient, because he wouldn't have cared if they did.

He painted like a fiend, his hands moving independently of his mind. It was sunrise on Thursday morning when he collapsed on the balcony, out of breath, canvas, energy. Out of the comforting, numbing haze of denial. He cried.

Liz's arms slid around him, faster than a wish. He didn't wonder how she knew he'd needed her exactly at this moment, as much as he'd needed space a minute before. She pressed her cheek between his shoulderblades, and she still didn't say a word.

She didn't have to.

oOo

_I know it may seem un-Michael-like for him to react this way to Max's rejection. But I think that it's because he never lets anyone else in that he would be so devestated. Max and Isabel-and now Liz-are the only people he lets himself love without limits._


	7. Chapter 7

In Your Eyes: The Heat

Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: Oh, sure. In the Bizarro World.

Summary: Now that Michael and Liz have grown closer together, they fear that their secret will tear the group apart. Part 2 of the In Your Eyes Trilogy.

Author's Notes: Hi, y'all! *sheepish* I suck, but my old computer commited hare-kiri over a year ago (it was very dramatic) and I JUST got some recovered documents from it, among which was the partial next chapter of IYE, which I had been horribly stuck on at the time my old computer died. The PC is dead; long live the laptop! This chapter is for an anonymous reader who left me an LJ post _begging_ for more; I haven't forgotten about this fic, I just needed help from my technologically amazing pal, Joe, in recovering what I could from my old computer now that I FINALLY have a new one.

Damn, them computers are expensive! BestBuy is awesome, BTW. And the great thing about laptops is if you don't have/can't afford internet, your neighbours may have an unsecured Wi-Fi network; and if _they_ don't, there's always Starbucks or the public library. Little-known fact; most banks have Wi-Fi too. There was one next door to my old house with the Muse; she jumped on the laptop bandwagon too, and can now steal Wi-Fi from the back porch.

oOo

Isabel wouldn't talk to either of them. Michael chose to leave it alone. He dealt with enough snide remarks from kids at school whose opnions meant nothing. He really wasn't up to a tirade from someone who knew his weak spots.

Correction. Someone _else_. Max clearly felt no need to keep his opinions to himself, and had, in fact, made so many _loud_ mentions of how Michael was a scumbag and a liar, the kind of guy who'd steal his best friend's girl, that Liz had gone up to him in the middle of the courtyard in the middle of lunch and kicked him in the shins. While he was hopping on one foot, she kicked him again, called him an asshole, and dumped her cherry coke over his head.

She got detention for a week. Michael didn't know whether to be worried or proud.

But by that Saturday, his already-limited supply of patience was wearing thin, the Crashdown was busier than he'd ever seen it, they were out of pickles, and Isabel was sitting in the last booth with Jesse, which he figured made her fair game. In public, maybe he could get a few words in edgewise before she made a scene.

She wouldn't even meet his eyes when he came out of the kitchen to approach their table. "I cooked the food you're eating, Iz-the least you could do is look at me." She wouldn't. "Isabel."

"Michael, you're killing my brother. Are you so busy getting your hands under Liz's skirt that you don't even _care?"_ she demanded acidly.

"That's a little harsh, honey," Jesse pointed out. "I don't think Michael deserves that. I know Liz doesn't. After what Max dragged her into, down in Utah, does he have the right to be this mad? He screwed up, they broke up, life goes on."

"It's complicated, Jesse," she shot back. Her eyes flashed a warning. _Stay out of this._

"It's not complicated, Isabel." Michael scrubbed at his face with one hand. "It's really, really simple. I have a smart, beautiful, loyal, amazing girlfriend who loves me, and all the people I care about have to say is that I'm a traitor, and a liar, and I don't deserve her. Do you remember when you got engaged to Jesse, and you told me you just needed someone to be happy for you?"

"Yes," she admitted, feeling like she was losing the argument. "I remember." The fights and recriminations and disapproval from everyone she loved had been almost physically painful. But Michael had been there for her, when she'd asked.

"I just need you to congratulate me, Isabel. You don't even have to mean it."

"You don't need my approval, Michael," she hedged, not wanting to see his side. Not wanting him to _have_ a side. She felt like she was being disloyal to her brother just by being in the same room with him.

"Yeah, I do," he admitted. "It won't stop me from seeing Liz-nothing on Earth, or off it, could force me to give her up-but I do need it. I knew I'd lose Max over this. I can't lose you too." He focused on the ridiculous mural that decorated the Crashdown's wall, and forced the words out. "You're my sister. I love you."

Isabel could count on one hand the number of times she'd heard those words out of Michael's mouth. But she'd seen the changes in him; Liz's influence. He'd come to her Christmas party, and for once, gotten along with her parents. He'd congratulated her on being pregnant, and except for that one sarcastic remark in the kitchen, the lecture she'd been expecting had never come. He'd been nicer to Jesse, more patient with Kyle. She'd seen him smile more and laugh more in the past three months than in the three years before that.

He was happy, down-in-the-bones truly happy, for probably the first time in his life, and she'd been too busy siding with Max to realize it. It was as simple and as heartbreaking as that. "I'm happy for you, Michael. Really." She met his eyes, felt her lips quirk in a teasing grin, and said, "Congratulations." And meant it.

oOo

Liz brought her knitting bag and one of her Dad's Mexican cheesecakes when she went to Isabel's that Friday night, to find Isabel gently but firmly nudging Jesse in the direction of the door. "I could just stay in the kitchen, or the bedroom, wherever's out of your way-"

She handed him his coat.

"I really have a lot of work to do…"

Isabel smiled sweetly, gave him a quick, smacking kiss, then said, "It's girls' night, honey. Get out."

He chuckled, still looking slightly disbelieving. "Should I ask Phillip if I can sleep on his couch?"

"Dad's expecting you. He ordered Chinese, and you're going to go over the paperwork for the Feldman case again," she added encouragingly, then finally got to close the door behind him. "I thought he'd _never_ leave."

"Hey, Isabel," Liz said uncertainly. They weren't exactly the best of friends, and although they'd been spending more time together lately, she'd been expecting that to change when Michael broke the news.

"Liz, I'm really glad you came," Isabel said fervently.

_You are? _ "Oh, uh, me, too. How's the baby?"

She sank down on the couch, tears welling in her eyes. "Fine. Everything's fine, everything's _normal."_

Liz dropped her purse on the coffee table and sat next to her. "That's a good thing, right?"

"I guess…" she waved one hand helplessly. "I just…I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. What if she gets sick, like Max's son got sick? We have no way home! What am I going to do?"

"Isabel…" Liz took a deep breath. "We don't know that Max's son was ever sick. Tess lied to _all_ of us, to get home. What if that was just one more lie?"

"You think so?" Isabel asked tremulously.

"I don't know," she admitted, "but we can't just take her word for it. She said that alien pregnancies only take about a month, right?"

"Right."

"And Max felt his son being born about three weeks after Tess left. How long have you been pregnant?"

"Since…around the end of October."

Liz tried to smile. "And you're not even showing yet. So far it's been a normal human pregnancy. So even if Max's son really was sick, all signs are pointing to you having a normal human baby."

"You really think so?"

"I do." Liz nodded. "I do think so, but just in case…you should tell Jesse the truth."

"I can't," she whispered.

"Why not?"

She started shaking her head. "After Alex died, the three of us…we made a sacred pact never to let anyone else in, to put them at risk that way."

"Isabel, you _married_ him. He's already in, he's already at risk, and if he knew how worried you are, the hell you're going through, he wouldn't want you to go through it alone. He's not stupid-hasn't he ever asked you questions?"

"He…he asked me if I had some kind of psychic ability. I laughed it off, but he was serious."

"So tell him. Tell him you have a psychic ability. Tell him you can dreamwalk, tell him you're…'really different.' See what he says. If he seems okay with it, tell him the rest. It'll be so much worse if he sees something he shouldn't, or gets suspicious."

"But I promised Max and Michael-"

"Michael won't give you any grief," Liz replied with a smug little quirk of her lips. "I'll take care of him. And with Max…he's so stubborn that sometimes it's easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission."

"I just don't want him to feel like we're all turning against him. With you and Michael…"

"Falling in love," Liz finished for her. "I know it wasn't very good timing. But me forcing Michael to keep us a secret was hurting him. Just like Max forcing you to keep who you are a secret is hurting you. Sometimes the only way to make things better is to be honest with the people you love, even if it's hard. Even if they get mad at you."

"Max…"

"Will come around," Liz cut in. "I have to believe that. I don't expect him to turn cartwheels, but Michael's his family. And if there's one thing I've learned about the three of you, it's that you don't turn your back on family."

"You're right. We don't." Somewhat cheered, Isabel opened the grocery bag Liz had set on the coffee table. "Yum, cheesecake. I'll get the tabasco and a couple of forks."

A little puzzled, Liz looked up at her friend. "What did I say?"

"Jesse's my family." Isabel shrugged. "And so is our baby. And we won't turn our backs on him, either, so he'll have to forgive me eventually."

"Do you want to call him?"

Isabel shrugged. "I'll tell him tomorrow. Or next week. Or...when the baby's born."

"Still nervous, huh?"

She winced. "Yeah."

"How about we look at apartments? You're going to need a nursery."

"I actually found a place I love over on Main and Ellford."

Liz winced. "Main and Ellford?" The apartments there were over stores. Some of them had been used as offices; some, like the Parkers' apartment, had been converted to family homes after the war. All of them needed work to be habitable; they'd been stores or storage or empty for decades.

"It has the original windows, stained glass inserts, and there's a terrace on the roof and space in the back for a garden and a garage..."

"It probably needs forty thousand dollars of work!" Liz protested.

"That's what Jesse said." Isabel smirked. "I closed yesterday."

"Oh." Liz bit her lip on a sound of dismay.

"I've got it covered," Isabel assured her, wiggling her fingers.

"You've got it covered...with jazz-hands?"

Isabel almost choked on her laughter. "No! You know those powers Michael has been teaching you how not to use?"

"Oh! We're gonna use them."

Isabel nodded her agreement. "But _after_ cheesecake."

oOo

The new apartment was...well, Liz wasn't crazy enough to use the word 'beautiful,' but it had good bones. There were lovely brick walls and the rooms had been roughed in with drywall at some point in the far past. The drywall had holes and had never been painted, but they could fix that easily. The floor was the big problem. The original hardwood probably hadn't been sanded or refinished since it was laid.

The kitchen was a bigger problem. The cupboards were metal, and the counters were missing. The appliances needed to be replaced, the floor was nonexistent, and the backsplash was plywood.

"I think this might be over our pay-grade," Liz observed.

"No, it'll be great. I've been watching DIY shows. Did you know they make kitchen floors out of rubber tiles now? They're warmer and cheaper."

"You got tiles?"

"I got old tires."

"Naturally."

"A couple of bags of charcoal-I was thinking a diamond backsplash. We can strip the cupboards down to stainless steel and put in stone countertops."

"You've got a car full of rocks, don't you?"

"I got them from the quarry. Granite."

"Bathroom too?"

Isabel shrugged. "Why not?"

"I think you're going to have to tell him, Isabel. He'll want to know how you managed to reno an entire apartment in one night."

"I was going to give Michael all the credit."

Liz grinned. "He'll like that."

oOo

It was just as easy as it sounded. The diamond backsplash sparkled, the red paint beneath showing through. The countertops were gorgeous. Liz blew a piece of hair out of her face and grinned. "The floors are beautiful."

"Original hardwood," Isabel replied proudly.

"You were right, it's perfect." The rooftop terrace had a few potted trees that they'd revived, and the backyard garden had a patio laid and was ready to be planted. "You're move-in ready. And you can show this when you tell Jesse-he'll see that your 'powers' aren't death-ray eyes or exploding fireballs."

Isabel slid down one of the newly repaired and painted walls and sprawled on the floor. "I'm powered out."

Liz laughed. "This is amazing. I want a place like this when-" she stopped. _I said too much._

"Ah-_hah!_ I knew it! For when you and Michael move in together!"

Liz winced. "I didn't say that."

"You were thinking it! Has he asked you to marry him?"

"Isabel, we've only been together since Christmas. It's just...I can't picture my life without him."

Isabel locked eyes with her. "I'm glad he has you. We were all kind of distracted, and you took care of him. I've never seen him this happy, and I'm afraid that something's going to happen. It was hard enough when Maria went to New York; if he lost you, I don't think he'd ever recover."

"Well, fair's fair. If I lost him, I don't think I could handle it either."

oOo

Michael was waiting for her on the terrace when she returned home. "How's Isabel?"

Liz grinned. _I should have known he'd know where I was._ "Do you have me bugged?"

"No, I just know you. And you asked your Dad to make one of his cheesecakes."

"We had a girls' night. She doesn't really have any girlfriends she can talk to about..."

"Czechoslovakian stuff."

"Yeah. And she found a new apartment-we were fixing it up, painting the nursery."

"Do you want kids?"

Liz sank onto the lawn chair. "I don't know, someday. I kind of have a lot to do first."

"Well, we're young. We've got time."

She raised one eyebrow. "You want kids?" She hadn't been expecting that.

He shrugged. "I like kids. And when we were having those dreams, when we thought Isabel was pregnant..."

"I'd forgotten about that." It said a lot about how crazy their lives had been, that she'd forgotten the nightmare of a psychic pregnancy.

"Yeah, well. I didn't. It felt...right."

"Like you had a purpose in life."

"Yeah."

"I think most fathers feel like that."

"Well, I guess I'll find out." He sat next to her and pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck.

She turned and caught his mouth, sinking into the kiss like she intended to stay. Her hands slid over his broad shoulders and down to his waist. "Come inside."

_Inside where there's a bed? Nice try, honey._ "I like it here," he murmured as he kissed his way along her collarbone. She lay back and tried to tug him down, and he resisted. His downstairs brain thought it was the best idea of all time, a sure sign that it was time to put on the brakes. He gave her a few more gentle, light kisses and eased away. "I've got to work tonight, Liz. I better get going."

"Fine."

Michael winced. He wasn't a relationship guru by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew that when a girl said she was fine, she meant she was anything but. "Liz? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You sure?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay. I'll see you at school." He knew he should pursue the problem; but he really didn't want to. He had to go to work, so he'd just hope it wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass.

oOo

_Ahahaha! I updated!_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: Mine? Ahahahaha! Are you off your meds?

Summary: Now that Michael and Liz have grown closer together, they fear that their secret will tear the group apart. Part 2 of the In Your Eyes Trilogy.

Author's Notes: Sorry for my suckage, you guys. I'm trying to update this in a timlier (is that a word?) fashion. But I do love them reviews like the pigeons love popcorn.

oOo

"Liz, what's going on?" Michael asked, feeling more than a little cautious. They'd finally got their relationship all out in the open-hell, Iz, Kyle and her parents were actually _happy_ about it-and she'd been avoiding him all week. If there was one thing he'd learned in two years with Maria, it was that not aknowledging a problem only gave it time to get bigger. But he had no desire to have this conversation. He had the sinking feeling it was going to start with, _We need to talk..._

"Nothing."

_Wonderful. The 'nothing' game. My favorite._ "Liz, it's not nothing."

"Michael, really. Nothing's wrong." He would have bought that if it weren't for her strained smile.

"If nothing's wrong, why have you been avoiding me for the past week?" he snapped. He couldn't stand waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to break his heart-if it was going to end, he'd end it now.

"I don't want to talk about it," she replied stiffly.

_Progress. At least she's admitting something's wrong._ "Well, that sucks for you, then. Because we're talking about it anyway."

"Michael-"

"Liz, for Christ's sake, just tell me!"

"You don't want to have sex with me!" she yelled back.

There was no more baffling phrase in the English language. Michael was silent for a moment, knowing his first reaction-hysterical laughter-would probably get him killed. "I thought you weren't ready," he said. There, that sounded appropriately sensitive.

Her brow furrowed. "I'm not," she admitted in a very small voice.

Michael sat back down. "I'm officially lost," he conceeded.

"I'm _not_ ready, at least I don't think so...but why don't you want to? I know I'm not as pretty as Maria-"

He shushed her with two fingers over her mouth. "Okay, first off. I _do_ want to. Believe me, I do. A lot."

"But-"

"Uh-uh, not done." He used his whole hand to quiet her this time. "But I don't want to because I'm horny, or because it's expected, or any of the reasons you probably think. I want to because it's _you._ Because no one has ever loved me like you do. But I like to think that no one's ever loved _you_ like _I_ do either, even though that's probably not true," he added with a rueful smile. "And I know that you've never...and it scares me. Eighteen years of expectations is a lot to live up to. I want it to be perfect. Part of it being perfect is you wanting it just as much."

He lifted his hand and she started to laugh. "Sorry, sorry," she managed between giggles. "I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing at _me._ How ridiculous am I, that I get mad at my boyfriend because he's _not_ pressuring me for sex!"

Michael joined in her laughter, though his had an edge of slightly hysterical relief. "It's a good thing I don't expect you to make sense." He paused, remembering something else she'd said that had nagged at him. "And who told you you're not pretty?"

"Well, no one, but Michael, I'm not exactly your type."

"One girlfriend does not constitute a type. I've liked you since the ninth grade."

"Really?" A smile like a slow sunrise graced the curve of her lips.

"Baby, it drives me nuts when you wear red. And if your Dad knew how many fantasies I've had involving that Crashdown uniform, I'd have a tragic meat-grinder accident."

"You don't say," she drawled coyly.

"Come on, you know you're gorgeous."

"Look who's talking. Rowr," she added, then giggled.

"Liz, honey?" Nancy Parker's voice came from her bedroom doorway.

"On the balcony," Liz called back.

"Could you come help your father with the schedule for next week?"

"Okay!" She pecked Michael on the lips and slipped inside, calling, "My Chem book's on the desk if you want to get started without me."

Michael barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He'd started focusing more on his schoolwork, but he still didn't _like_ it. "Sure, see you in a few." He followed her back in the window and started poking around on her desk, not really snooping so much as procrastinating. He lifted up a CD case and managed to knock over a pile of papers. Cursing under his breath, he knelt to pick them up. The letterhead at the top of one caught his eye. Berkeley? What the hell?

_Ms. Parker,_

_I wished to extend my personal congratulations on your acceptance..._

Michael froze. Liz hadn't said anything about getting acceptance letters yet-it was too early for them, wasn't it? It was only February. He scanned the rest of the letter. _...will recieve a full scholarship plus stipend...looking forward to your tour of the campus the week of April 11th...pleased to welcome you to the Bay Area._

His hands started shaking. Liz was leaving. Liz was going to California, in just a couple of months, she was leaving Roswell-_leaving me_, a small voice cried-where she'd meet a hundred better, smarter guys, clamouring for her attention, and once she had all that why would she ever need to come back?

She hadn't mentioned it. He had the brief, vain hope that maybe she hadn't mentioned it because she didn't plan to go, but why else would she save the letter? And even if she didn't go to Berkeley, she was going to go _somewhere_-Harvard was even further away. He felt stupid that it hadn't occured to him before. They were going to graduate, and Liz was going to go off to college. He supposed that he'd assumed she'd go to school with Isabel, but Liz was too smart for a local school. Isabel had been planning to go away to school too, she just...hadn't. But the alien chaos wasn't Liz's problem; Max wasn't _her_ king, to decree whether she could stay or go, and with the way he'd been acting lately, Michael couldn't blame her for wanting to get as far away from Max as possible.

There was really only one option that he could stand. He had to go with her, somehow, but he wasn't about to get offered a scholarship and didn't really want one anyway. He reached for the princess phone on Liz's nightstand and called Jake Callaghan in Meta-Chem's HR, the man who'd given him the news on his promotion two months ago. "Hey, Jake, it's Michael Guerin."

_"Mike, hi, what's up?"_

"I just found out my girlfriend got a scholarship to Berkeley."

_"Hey, that's great. Tell Liz congratulations from me, yeah?"_

"Sure, I will. Listen, the reason I'm calling-"

_"Moving to the Bay Area, right?"_

Michael managed a weak laugh. "That's why they pay you the big bucks, huh?"

_"A little early to be giving your notice, though, isn't it? Not that we don't appreciate the extra time."_

"I was actually wondering about the possibility of a transfer. Doesn't Meta-Chem have a facility in California?"

_"Sorry to be telling you this, Mike, but our facility out in Cali is in Barstow. We could probably set you up with a lateral transfer, but that's a helluva commute."_

Michael rubbed his aching temple with two fingers. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. "Yeah, it was just a thought. Looks like I'll be giving my notice after all, Jake, sorry. I'll let you know when we have all the dates nailed down."

_"You do that. Congrats again, Mike."_

"Thanks. I'll see you next week for the performance reviews, yeah?"

_"Wouldn't miss it. 'Bye."_

"Goodbye." Michael hung up and resisted the urge to put his fist through the wall. "Dammit!"

When Liz came back upstairs, they settled in to study, but Michael couldn't concentrate, and eventually mumbled an excuse about needing to catch up on his sleep and headed home. He sat on his couch for nearly an hour, the phone waiting next to him, turning a small card over and over in his fingers. Finally he stopped stalling, picked up the phone, and dialled.

"Gina Halvorson, please." When he heard the muffled _Hello?_ on the other end of the line, he spoke quickly, before he could lose his nerve. "Gina, it's Michael Guerin, we met at Phillip Evans' dinner party. I thought about your offer to buy some of my paintings, and I've decided I'm interested..."

oOo

_Am I evil to end it there? Probably. But I'm okay with that._


End file.
